Ghost
by EllieF
Summary: Near has held imaginary conversations with Mello before, but it's unsettling when Mello starts answering.


**Notes:** Written for dn_contest's "hallucination" week. This is sort of a prequel to "Wind", and is set in the same 'verse.

**Ghost**

Mello hasn't yet been gone a month when Near realizes he is not really gone.

Roger is acting as Watari, and the SPK members have gone their separate ways. Near is safely ensconced in L's new headquarters in New York, sitting on the floor of the computer room with one eye on the monitors and one on his Legos.

"Nice digs," drawls a voice Near instantly recognizes, despite the impossibility of hearing it here and now. He freezes for a moment, then reaches for the next block for the wall he's building. The back of his neck prickles in that way that presages a lightning strike, but he doesn't turn round.

There's that sound he knows quite well, an exhale too forceful to be a sigh, tinged with amusement. "Fine, don't fucking look."

He tries and fails to unhear the creak of leather, the click of booted feet on the shining floor. "You've got the perfect little setup here for removing all human interaction from your life. You'll never have to go outside again if you don't want to."

_You're not real_, Near thinks. _You're dead._

"That doesn't mean I'm _wrong_."

_Missing the point; how like you._

Mello laughs. "Deflecting from the real issue, how like _you_. It's not like you've never talked to me before."

He's right, but there's an important difference now. _You are not supposed to answer._

"What, dying was supposed to make me cooperative? Please."

Near fits the block into place and reaches for his hair. _What do you want, Mello?_

A slow clap echoes off the walls. Headquarters _is_ actually quite large, empty, and cold. Near never noticed until now.

"Psychology one-oh-one," Mello calls. Near doesn't need to look to be able to picture him, wandering to the doorway to look out the plate-glass window, smirking as if he's having one over on Near. "Next you'll be trying to guess what aspect of your psyche I represent."

There's a shift in the air currents of the room. Near tells himself it's a trick of the central heat, that it doesn't really bring the scent of leather and acrid smoke swirling around him. Then a whisper, startlingly close: "But what if I _am_ real?"

_I would have to find an exorcist, in that case,_ Near silently retorts, but he can feel that Mello—or whatever his mind has constructed to stand in for Mello—has gone.

***

Crime exploded over the last fortnight, as if some worldwide collective subconscious realized Kira is no longer around, despite Near's insistence that there be no public comment about the end of the case. He would not admit to anyone that he has doubted his ability to step into L's shoes, but he thinks of it now, as a possible trigger for the irrationality that must have prompted Mello's appearance.

The cases are tedious, but must be attended to. L's reputation suffered over the course of the Kira case, and it's Near's duty to restore it.

He ignores Mello, but can hear him stalking about at times, crunching that omnipresent chocolate, moving toys out of place, though of course they are always where Near left them when he checks.

A month to the day after they all walked out of the Yellow Box warehouse, Hal Lidner calls on the line Near maintains in case he needs to contact the SPK again. Neither of them mentions the timing, but he knows she is as aware of it as he is.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asks her. Mello mutters something about social skills.

"Nothing like that. I just thought I'd check in. I know it must be hard for you."

"Let me know if you need a human-to-Near translator," Mello says.

"I do not," Near answers him, then realizes to his chagrin that he did so out loud. "I do not think of it that way," he tells Hal, to cover the lapse.

She laughs quietly, surprising him. "No, you wouldn't. Look, I may be out of line here, but you went through a lot in Japan. We all did. It's only human to need time to process an experience like that."

"This is assuming you're human," Mello chimes in.

"I appreciate your concern," Near says to Hal. What he means is _thank you_, and he feels a fleeting and ridiculous twinge of annoyance that Mello might have been right about translations.

Hal hesitates, then says, "Call me if you need to, all right?"

"I will."

He disconnects, and Mello groans theatrically. "You're fucking hopeless."

"Insults are not productive, Mello." Near taps at his keyboard, reorganizing evidence.

"You won't hear what I'm trying to tell you anyway."

"What would that be?"

"Look at me."

"No."

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Near stops typing, and slowly turns the chair around.

And there Mello is, arms crossed, booted foot tapping impatiently. He looks entirely real and solid, and just as irritated with Near as ever.

_There are several potential explanations, none of which I want to admit to you,_ Near thinks. _Which is worrisome enough of itself._ "Because Hal was right," he finally says. "I haven't said goodbye."

"Too easy," Mello snaps. "You told them the real reason yourself in that warehouse, but you don't _know_ it, not deep down. And lip service isn't good enough for me."

"You are being nonsensical, Mello."

"Heh. We both know that means you don't understand. You said neither of us can match L alone. You need me."

"You were already dead when I said that. You cannot realistically know it."

"For fuck's sake, are you still on about that?" He flings up his hands and turns as if to go.

Near hugs his knee closer to his chest. "Wait."

Mello stops mid-stalk and spins to face him again. "Well?"

"I haven't said goodbye, because I don't want to."

"_Now_ we're getting somewhere."

"It should have been both of us all along. You're the one who left."

"Ancient history," Mello scoffs.

Near considers for a moment. "It could be both of us now."

"You're actually inviting me to stick around?"

"Yes."

Mello's smile is gone in a flash, but it was definitely present. "No Hershey's."

Near doesn't care at the moment how irrational it is to smile back at someone who isn't there. "Valrhona Caraïbe, I think."

"Someone was paying attention. All right, brat. It's a deal."

It may not be the healthiest way to deal with an imaginary Mello, Near thinks, but it's still more sane than calling an exorcist.


End file.
